


Out for Herself

by viewingcutscene



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fight Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:39:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4307211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viewingcutscene/pseuds/viewingcutscene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mira Aeducan hardens Alistair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out for Herself

Two sovereigns clattered to the floor at Goldanna’s feet. “There,” snarled Mira, “that’s the only family you’ll get from this encounter, so you best take care.”

“You dare-“ said Goldanna, two bright spots of red standing out on her pale face. Her eyes locked with the Warden’s but her fingers twisted in the skirt of her dress, no doubt itching to pick up the coin.

“Damn right, I do.” Mira tucked the purse back into her satchel, and hefted it. Turning to go, she caught Morrigan’s admiring smirk before snapping her fingers in Alistair’s face. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He hadn’t said a word since Mira had taken over the negotiations with his half-sister, but he looked miserable and torn. Even his hair drooped. She didn’t wait for an answer, but yanked at his arm, dragging the unhappy Warden out the front door. 

Outside in the bright afternoon sun, Alistair gave a shaky laugh. “Well, that didn’t quite go as planned.”

Morrigan snorted. “Truly, your intellect is staggering.”

He shot Morrigan a dire look, but before he could speak, Mira cut in, leathers creaking as she rolled her shoulders. “Morrigan, none of us have family to be proud of. Your mother was a dragon, remember? A money grubber’s probably the most benign we’re like to meet these days.” Morrigan rolled her eyes, but accepted the arrow gracefully enough. She wandered off, muttering about taking Dog to hunt before he decided to hunt in her satchel again.

Before Morrigan was out of earshot, Alistair caught Mira’s arm. She whirled on him, teeth set into the meat of her lower lip. He snatched his hand back like he’d been bitten. “Andraste’s ass, Mira, what’s gotten into you?” Mira’s anger boiled over.

“When will you learn, Alistair, that everyone is out for themselves?” she cried. “Maker knows, you’ve had time enough to learn it. Isolde alone -“ she snorted and stopped. “Just - just start standing up for yourself. I won’t be around forever to do it for you.” With that, she stalked off in the same direction Morrigan had gone, leaving Alistair looking lost among the dusty Denerim market.

The sky was dark blue and flecked with stars when they set up camp in the foothills of the Frostback Mountains. Mira was setting up her bedroll when she heard a cough behind her. She knew it was Alistair without turning around; he was the only one in camp with a shield and she could hear it clattering as he shuffled his feet waiting for her to turn around. She took grim satisfaction in adjusting the bedroll just so before brushing her hands off on her britches and standing up. Alistair’s hair looked more wilted than ever before, and his face was etched with lines. Mira felt a stab of pity for her fellow Warden before remembering she was still mad at him.

“I was thinking about what you said. You know - earlier today. Outside Goldanna’s house?”

“Yes,” Mira said, choking back an exasperated laugh. “I remember.”

He twisted his fingers together, and huffed. “And-“ He snorted another breath, and she wondered why on earth getting the words right mattered so much right now. Maybe a lamp post caught his tongue, she thought, immediately regretting the mental image. Mira settled for lifting an eyebrow, struggling to keep her face composed, but it only seemed to set him off. “And I think you had no right to say that!” 

Mira reeled back as if she’d be slapped, her face pale as milk in the firelight. The tattoos on her nose and cheeks danced in the flickering glow. “You what?”

“Just because because Morrigan’s mother is- is a sodding dragon or because you can’t trust your family, doesn’t give you the right to bring everyone down all the time.” Alistair took a deep breath, calming himself, “I know it’s emotional for you, returning to Orzammar now, but taking it out on us when we have to work together to -“ He let out a wordless yell as Mira reared back and planted her hands flat on his chest to give him a mighty shove.

Dog let out a sharp bark as Alistair skidded on the grass, and Mira heard the camp go deadly quiet. She didn’t care, not one bit.

“Don’t you talk to me about emotions, about family,” she hissed, rigid with fury. Save for the rise and fall of her chest, she stood motionless, fists and teeth clenched. “Don’t you ever.” 

Mira closed her eyes, her pulse hammering in her ears and a pain deep in her gut. When she’d found Trian, cold in his own gore, and known herself to be an utter fool, she’d felt this pain before. With the Grey Wardens, she’d resigned herself to forging a new family, but Duncan’s death had shown her the error of that assumption. Then there was the business with the rose… distantly, she could hear a shushing sound, feet on the grass.

A cold kiss of metal on her cheek, and then a much firmer, warmer kiss on the lips. Mira’s eyes flew open. She jerked her head back, but Alistair slid his gauntleted palm around to her hair, holding her firmly. It felt wonderful but she wasn’t willing to concede so easily. She made a rude noise into his mouth, jerking her leg between his legs. Alistair might be a sheltered fool, but he knew at least to block her knee from bruising his tender …ego. No matter. She hooked her foot behind his right heel, yanking hard and tipping the knight onto his back in a clatter of armour. He nearly pulled her down with him, but Mira was ready and leapt back as he fell.

“Gaaah,” Mira rubbed the tender spot behind her ear where Alistair’s grip had pulled out some of her hair. No blood, thankfully. She decided to roll up her bed kit, thinking that maybe sleeping near Shale would keep Alistair away for the rest of the night. Kneeling down, she saw the divot in the grass where his head had bounced as he fell, and snorted. All the same, he was awfully still. Mira looked across camp at the fire, and into Wynne’s worried face. She held up a hand, indicating the healer wait for her signal to come over and help.

She patted the ground beside Alistair’s head softly.

“Alistair.” Nothing. A little louder: “Alistair!” It was hard to tell if he was breathing with his kit still on. Mira hooked her hair behind her ears and leaned over Alistair’s mouth, laying one hand flat on his breastplate. No breath stirred against her cheek. Mira bit her lip, and tried shaking him gently.

“Alistair, come on now.” 

Suddenly, a soft current blew against her ear, stirring the tendrils of her hair and sparking a flicker of heat low in her belly. Flushing, Mira sat up to find Alistair grinning at her, eyes sparkling in the firelight. With a yell, she pounded him in the chest with her fist so hard it stung and bounced to her feet while he groaned on the grass. 

“Maker, you fight like a brigand.” He said, laughing. 

Mira watched him, lips parted, till he stopped laughing. Ever so delicately, she put the sole of her boot down on his chest. Alistair squirmed under her gaze, looking anywhere but her face until she edged the toe of the boot under his chin, forcing him to look up. His cheeks were flushed under his brown and gold stubble and not, she thought, from the exertion of fighting. 

“Wait here.” Mira told him. She sprinted across the camp, catching Wynne’s curious stare as she shot past the fire pit. “He’s fine,” she assured the mage, “Just winded.” Mira pointed at the tent across the clearing, and Wynne bent her head in acknowledgment, returning to her conversation with Sten.

Zevran had the tent that night, and he was just undressing for bed when Mira poked her head in the front flap.

“Tent’s mine tonight, Zev. Captain’s orders.” She was being patently unfair; the elf had recently stood guard duty four nights in a row, and hadn’t had the tent for nearly a fortnight.

He regarded her with cool amusement. “Orders, you say? We Antivans much prefer a good bargain.” 

“I’ll take your next three guard shifts,” she assured him. He tilted his hand back and forth, causing Mira to curse the assassin fluently, but he refused to budge. “Alright. Alright! You can also have my next turn in the tent.” She hated sleeping out of doors, under the broad wide sky, but the bargain was still well-struck, she thought. The elf shrugged back into his shirt, grinning. “Agreed.” 

Alistair was still lying on the ground where she had left him. At least he’s biddable, she thought. That’ll come in handy. Truthfully, except for the occasional sparring match with Morrigan, Mira observed that Alistair simply didn’t like being in conflict with anyone. He’d speak his piece, but if the vote went against him, he’d back down. If the offense was great, he’d do anything to make up for causing strife amongst the team. You could always count on it.

He watched her approach him, and as she came closer, her pulse quickened. Oh yes, she was counting on him being very biddable. 

She took his hands in her own and hauled him to his feet. “We’re having a talk.” She said. “A private one.” He shrugged and let Mira tow him to the tent, but he balked at entering. “Surely we’re well away from any ears that might be listening.” He said, amiable but wary. 

“It’s not the ears I’m concerned with,” she said, her voice a throaty rumble. Alistair’s blush spread from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck. “I’ve a mind to see how far that flush goes.” It was a simple matter to push him into the tent after that.

Once inside, Mira pulled Alistair’s head down to her own, seeking his mouth with hers. He clung to her, his hands buried in her hair, as she kissed him. She felt the tip of his tongue on her lips as she tugged at the buckles on his gauntlets and breastplate, leaving the costly armour where it fell. She pushed him down onto the blankets and broke the kiss to pull off his boots. 

Alistair was breathing hard through his nose, looking like he’d run a difficult footrace. Mira continued to undress him, removing the quilted armour padding and light tunic. When her fingers hooked into the waistband of his soft leather britches, she stopped herself.

“I quite agree,” he said in a strangled voice, “This is entirely too fast.” 

She ignored him, instead lighting a second brazier. She stood before the sprawled knight and began to disrobe. The leather cuirass was of Dalish make and a simple affair, flaring out into a lightly armored skirt that allowed Mira the quick flexible movements she favoured. Her boots were a supple replica of the Antivan boots Zevran favoured, and both landed in the corner where Alistair’s gear lay. The heat of the braziers bathed her in rosy heat as she seized the bottom of her shift and pulled it over her head. Alistair propped himself up on his elbows, a tempting trail of hair running down his flat stomach in to his half-laced britches. 

She bent her head to lay a kiss on his stomach, and Alistair squirmed, stifling a high giggle. “Ticklish, are we?”

“No,” he squeaked, red with embarrassment and something else, besides. A cough, and deeper: “No, of course not.”

Mira slid her naked body up his, revelling in the feel of the leather between her legs. Alistair squirmed more and placed his hands round her calves, but didn’t throw her off. She gave his nipples a quick swipe with her tongue as she went, but didn’t slow until she was sitting on his chest, his nipples hardening underneath her ass. 

He was breathing hard, stirring her pubic hair pleasantly as she watched him. His pupils were big as a cat’s in the night, and he looked as if he’d been walloped on the head. 

“Er,” he said, “Not that I’m complaining, but what -“

“Alistair,” Mira said sweetly, putting her hand briefly on his lips. “If you have to ask, I will get up. I will put my clothes on. I will make you lie here, naked, while I tell you in excruciating detail all the things we were about to do, until you perish from embarrassment, arousal, or both.”

In answer, Alistair slid his hands up, up, up until they were on her waist, and gently, he shifted her until she was sitting over his mouth. 

Mira sighed as he opened his lips, tentatively tasting her. His breath was warm, warmer than the air around them, and wet. She closed her eyes, and let the sensation of his tongue wash through her. The tendrils of warmth that had been curling through her like smoke from a fire burst into life, and her belly contracted with pleasure.

With slow, steady strokes, Alistair licked her front to back, and back again, using the underside of his tongue. Mira held herself steady to make things simpler. She touched his hands, still resting on her waist and brought them up to her breasts. His fingers, calloused from years of swordplay, encircled her nipples, flicking and pinching. She gasped and threw her head back, rocking back on his face. Alistair made a muffled exclamation. 

“Sorry,” she said, not feeling the slightest bit sorry at all. He shook his head wordlessly, and renewed his attentions to both her nipples and her clit. Feeling a little more confident in the knight’s abilities, Mira ground herself into his face, his stubbled chin causing a pleasant rasping sensation on her thighs and ass. 

As the pleasure built, she rolled her hips in time to Alistair’s tongue and lips. One of his hands slid round her back, coming rest in the small of her back, guiding her rocking. The other hand continued to play with her breasts, first one, then the other, till she was afire all over. With hands and tongue, Alistair held the Warden in an iron grip till at last, thighs shuddering, she came in a burst of pleasure. He held her up, tightly, as orgasm rippled outward from deep within. She rode him till the ripples subsided, feeling mellow and soft.

Mira slid back down to his chest, allowing the knight to speak. “Well?” she asked. His mouth and chin were shiny and wet, his voice guttural as if he hadn’t spoken in months rather than minutes. 

“Please,” was all he said.

Smiling, Mira turned to remove his britches finally. When she pulled them down over his cock, Alistair gave a moan. “Maker, I thought I was going to tear through them at one point,” he said, laughing ruefully. The laugh turned into another moan as Mira’s hair brushed over him while working the soft leather over his feet. The britches landed in the clothing pile with a soft plop.

In spite of his eagerness, Alistair seemed in no way interested in taking over, which was all to the good, as far as Mira was concerned. She faced away from him, gathering up the heavy fall of her hair atop her head, giving him a long look at her back from nape to ass. Kneeling over his hips, she took pleasure in lowering herself slowly over his cock; her legs were still a bit rubbery from their previous adventures, but her control was exact. 

She was wet and slick from her orgasm, and the feel of Alistair sliding into her was such a perfect combination of sleek and filling, she bit her lip hard. She hadn’t fucked anyone in so long that she wanted to savour this as long as she could. She leaned forward a bit, intent on forcing Alistair to watch his cock slide out of her and in again. He sucked his breath in through his teeth, and made tiny whimpering noise. She thought he’d come in seconds, and that thought sent her over the edge a second time as well. 

Alistair put his hands on her waist as she rode him, lifting his hips to match hers. His pace quickened to match his breath, and Mira had no doubt that if reached forward to place her hands on those hard, hairy thighs, she would feel his pulse trip-hammering away. 

Soon enough, though longer than she would’ve credited, she felt his body tighten up beneath her own. Mira’s fingers slipped down to her clit, working at it, while Alistair panted and strained beneath her. His fingers dug into her hips as he clung to her, the cock strokes still long and steady. She felt the rising rush again as he fucked her, her fingers circling her clit. He gasped her name and came, a deep heavy breath tearing out of him as he held her. She rode her own orgasm with a satisfied groan.

Mira stroked his knees, waiting for both their trembling to subside. Alistair’s hands fell away from her waist with a quiet thud. She rolled over, feeling a momentary emptiness as his cock slipped out of her and looked at her lover. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell in the steady, natural cadence of one sleeping. Smiling, she kissed him lightly on the cheek, covered him with a blanket and got dressed quietly.

She slipped out of the tent, savouring the cool night air on her flushed cheeks. She felt as sleek and satisfied as a house cat. Zevran was the only one still sitting by the fire when she approached; he offered her a steaming mug of tea that she accepted thirstily.

“You know,” he said, “I would’ve found your detailed instructions most edifying.”


End file.
